


The Monsters Who Dwell Beneath

by DawnandStars, Theskycriestoo



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst and Romance, Crime Scenes, Cults, Dark, Detective Noir, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Past Relationships, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Manipulation, Murder Mystery, On Hiatus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-World War II, Serial Killers, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Smoking, Some Characters/Monsters Have Different Names
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnandStars/pseuds/DawnandStars, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theskycriestoo/pseuds/Theskycriestoo
Summary: London, 1947. Scars from the second World War are still felt. The people are still haunted by the aftermath as the scum of humanity begin to pop up and lurk in the underbelly of their home. After all, some can't let go of the chaos and madness of wartime. Some are out for blood.Clara Oswald, a new private investigator and part-time nanny, teams up with former field medic and seasoned private investigator John Smith, the two of them working together to put a stop to the various criminals that plague the city's nightmares.What they don't expect, however, is for their business relationship to morph into something different entirely.
Relationships: Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Comments: 9
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY, IT IS HERE! If y'all saw me yelling over on Twitter (@dawnandstars) or saw comments from Sky on his Twitter (@theskycriestoo), this is a Whouffle AU we've been doing on and off for several years now and I'm excited to FINALLY share it with y'all! Turning the villains and monsters into things like serial killers and cults is very interesting, by the way xD

Sometimes it was difficult, figuring which was easier. Being stuck behind a desk and _sometimes_ being asked to go to a crime scene (where people _still_ would hardly talk to her because she was a woman, despite being on the force), or being a private investigator with her own office, hardly any clients, and having to pretend to be a journalist just to talk to those at a crime scene.

If one had asked her which she would prefer, she would have originally said the boring secretary-like job she had as a police constable. Oh, sorry, _woman_ police constable.

That was, until, the Cyberman had taken someone important from her. Years before, someone or a group, she wasn't sure, using the name Auton had stolen her mother away.

Now she had quit her desk job and opened up her own private investigation services, bringing in just enough money to stay afloat (along with her occasional job as a weekend nanny). That was just because she was clever though.

But being clever and a woman working alone wasn't _enough_ , not with some of these cases.

Which brought Clara to where she was now, notes in her bag and dressed to impress, standing before the door of one _John Smith_. She had heard only stories about him, but enough to know he was a good man looking into the same cases she was.

Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.

She had just lowered her hand when the door suddenly opened, a frazzled looking man poking his head out to look at her. "Hello, you wouldn't happen to be the telegram girl, would you? I really, _really_ hope you are."

If he wanted to look professional for clients, then he definitely wasn't pulling that off at the moment. He wasn't wearing a jacket and his sleeves were rolled up. In fact, he looked dirty, covered in grunge and his hair all out of place.

Clara looked him over, raising a brow as she took in his disheveled appearance, a smirk tugging at her lips. She had heard stories about John and how he seemed mad as a hatter at times. Looks like they were true.

"No, I'm not, actually. Why, are you expecting one?" She glanced around before looking back at him, clearing her throat.

"I'm Clara Oswald, former WPC for the Metropolitan Police, current private investigator. I heard you were looking into some of the more unnatural murders happening lately?"

"Well, yes. I'm expecting one about my air conditioner. I have a friend who knows how to fix them but he's out of town so I'm stuck trying to fix it myself. Though, honestly, I'd probably fix it myself anyway." He glanced back into the office for a moment before turning back to her. "If you don't mind the lack of cold air or me tinkering, then you can come on in."

"Don't mind at all." It sounded better than being stuck in the department when everyone was complaining about the lack of air conditioning because it had broken somehow.

Probably one of the new officer's fault, yet no one would blame a man. Unless they blamed one of the suspects being brought in.

"I also have notes, case files, and witness accounts if you would like to look over them? After tinkering, of course."

"Yes, yes, of course. Probably best I not touch them right now. This thing has turned out to be pretty messy. I think I've almost got it, though, with or without help. It's been stubborn as hell, though." He began working on the machine again as he allowed her inside. "Just be sure to close the door behind ya."

Clara allowed herself to smirk now, feeling a bit thrilled that she wasn't being told off because she was a woman, along with the fact that he wasn't asking her for what she had brought before being told 'that is all.'

She had to deal with that _a lot._

Shutting the door behind her, Clara made her way into the office, looking around to see if there was a spot she could place her belongings and start taking out the aforementioned paperwork.

"This damned thing!" he grumbled to himself as he loosened a bolt before looking over to her. 

"So, what kind of cases are you curious about? And why bring them to me if you already work with the police?"

"Formerly. I quit my job there a year and a half ago, give or take a few days," she explained (more like repeated), finding a chair that she decided was suitable enough for her things. She opened up her bag to take out files and at least one folder, taking care that none of the contents within spilled out.

"I'm sure you've heard of the Cyberman, yeah? Bloke who would go around, kidnapping people and claiming to be 'upgrading' them?" She moved her bag to the floor, allowing the chair to now hold the files. "He vanished around that time as well. Hopefully, he was caught. But he's the reason I quit and began my own line of work."

She chose now to look at John, her face a neutral mask.

"He got my best friend. Up and vanished, too, before I got enough evidence to catch him, so I can only hope that. . ."

That he was caught. That he was just _gone._

". . . You and me both," John muttered after a bit of a pause. He looked up at her before taking a deep breath. "He was a very dangerous one. Somehow thought we'd be better off if we were more machine than man. . . or _woman_ ," he pointed over at her, sounding a bit embarrassed at his default wording. "He didn't seem to be picky on gender when it came to his victims."

He scoffed, shaking his head a bit as he went back to working on his project. "Funny how the only category of people who can reliably either put women first or on equal footing as men are serial killers."

"Yeah, they really don't discriminate unless they have issues towards one or the other," Clara agreed, picking up the folder first, since it held witness accounts and the like. "No one was even really _alive_ when he was done with them, and yet he seemed to think. . ." She sighed, doing her best to not run her fingers through her hair and mess up the hard work she had put into it.

She wasn't at her flat, she had to be somewhat _presentable_ if she was going to propose a partnership of sorts to catch serial killers and other criminals.

"Mr. Smith, I have a proposition for you, if you're willing to hear me out."

The man straightened up, attempting to turn the air conditioner back on. As it slowly started up and began blowing out cold air, he all but hopped in place, clapping his hands excitedly.

Only for it to make a clunking sound and break down immediately after. 

His face fell and he sighed, moving to unplug it from the wall and grab a hand cloth to clean off his hands. "I'm willing to hear you out, trust me, just let me get myself cleaned up a little bit before we talk. It won't do for you to look so professional and put together and me looking all blue-collar. I want you to know I'm taking you seriously. I’m sure you'd prefer that, right?"

Clara couldn't help but giggle a bit, watching him struggle and get angry at an appliance. She could only hope that the telegram he was waiting on would arrive soon. He probably felt extremely uncomfortable without some decently cold air, especially after going through all that work to try and repair it himself.

"Oh, of course! I don't mind waiting at all, really." Was there a hint of excitement in her voice? Possibly. She was certainly eager to get some help with these cases and not have to find sneaky and somewhat underhanded ways to get what she wanted.

She nearly got caught trying to lockpick a desk to just inspect a lighter! Having a man assist her would be easier, even better if it could be an equal partnership.

He nodded, making his way to the next room, soon revealing that it was a bathroom. He locked the door behind him and there were soon the sounds of clothes ruffling and running water from a sink. 

While he was preoccupied, that gave Clara some time to make herself comfortable. 

If she could make herself comfortable. While the floor was _mostly_ clear, she was finally able to look around and see that there were papers everywhere, stacked up on the desk and set into boxes that were placed almost haphazardly in some areas, a few even stacked on top of one another.

He even had a corkboard with pinned photographs, newspaper clippings, and strings connecting points that hinted at some kind of connection.

He seemed like an absolute _madman,_ and yet he was a private investigator that her former _boss_ would consult.

She managed to find another chair, quickly grabbing the one she had set her things on to pull up beside it in case he asked for the other files. Instead of sitting in the new chair, however, she merely set her bag upon it along with her coat.

Heart hammering in her chest, mostly from nerves, she leaned against the desk and waited for John to return.

It didn't take long, surprisingly. It was surprising only because the man who walked out looked far more pristine and put together than one might think possible for the amount of time he'd been in there. He had on a new shirt and vest, as well as an additional jacket and bowtie. He was clean and his hair was well combed. He even smelled like he'd put on some fresh cologne. 

He must be used to getting cleaned up and changed at his office then. Perhaps he pulled enough all-nighters here that it was simply a normal routine of his. 

He soon gestured to the chair with her bag, giving her a nice smile. "Go ahead and have a seat, dear. Tell me what I can do for you."

Clara stared, mentally shaking herself out of her brief stupor. Now was _not_ the time to get distracted by a well-dressed man, even if he called her 'dear.' She would ignore that as best as she could.

Instead of sitting down, she cleared her throat, standing up straight. She would treat this like a patrol report she would be expected to give when at her former job.

"Mr. Smith, my proposition for you is one of partnership. You and I are both private investigators, both looking into the same cases. I propose that we work together to catch these criminals."

She held up the folder before gesturing to the case files on the chair. "I have gathered witness accounts, testimonies, crime scene reports, and even photographs in regards to the various criminals and groups that plague us. But I _can't_ do much with it. . . As I am a woman. Which is why I feel like a partnership would be beneficial for us both."

She had clearly thought this through, sounding almost rehearsed. But now she was at a point where she had expected him to interrupt, or turn her away before she could speak.

"I-if my case notes and files are pieces of information you don't have then. . . Um. . ." Ah, another thing she hadn't considered.

That her information would be useless to him, since he would have an easier time collecting it.

He was glancing over the files as she talked, looking them over carefully, as if trying to find any inkling of something he hadn't already seen. It was a scrutinizing eye, but not a disapproving one. 

His eyes met hers briefly before looking back at the papers. "Miss Oswald, tell me something. What is in this for me? What would I get if you happened to only bring me information I already know?"

"An assistant. I've found ways to get around, try and find things no one else has, even if it's just a tiny detail that. . . That could be meaningless." According to her former superiors, of course.

According to anyone who thought a woman shouldn't be patrolling the streets, trying to solve crime and stop it.

"Other than that you would just get information that is useless to you." She felt like her plan was crumbling around her. People like the Cyberman were still roaming, there was a cult _posing corpses_ like statues, and no one seemed to be doing anything!

"Even if you turn me away, I won't stop. I'll keep going out there to catch these monsters. That's all I really can do, isn't it? I've got nothing else going for me."

"Nothing else going for you? You're a beautiful woman who obviously has a keen eye and is very smart. I'd say you have a lot going for you." He set the file down on his desk, still glancing through it but pausing briefly to look her in the eyes once more. 

"So, for someone with so much going for her, why would you believe you have nothing? What's got you so hopeless?"

"I do believe you've misunderstood me, Mr. Smith, but I'll humor you. My only job is that of a nanny on the weekends, with the rest of my week spent trying to catch serial killers and cult members." Without success, mind you.

"My mother is dead, as is my best friend. I don't have a partner of my own, and I haven't spoken to my father or his new wife in years, nor do I live near them. I just want a chance to do something _right_ and-"

Her train of thought stopped there, however, and she mentally rewound the conversation. Had he called her smart? Beautiful? Was he truly trying to flatter her?

Clara mentally shook those thoughts aside, scolding herself before continuing.

"And perhaps you're right. Perhaps I have _something_ but I feel like it can be _more,_ that _I_ can be more. But all I've got to prove it is some notes and photographs."

He leaned back in his chair, giving her a contemplative look before going back into the file to continue looking. 

"You've built up quite a lot of info here. I see a big focus has been on the Cyberman. Is that just the easiest one you've found things about or do you have another reason?"

"That. . . That friend I mentioned. He was one of his surviving victims. An empty shell of his former self who wouldn't respond to anyone, not even his parents."

She gave a bit of a shrug, setting the folder she held back down amongst the rest of her paperwork.

"I also gathered what I could on the Auton. My mother's death at his hand is what pushed me to become an officer before I quit. I actually gathered as much as I could on nearly every criminal that has been sighted at least _once_ in London."

And never caught. She had ambition, drive, but lacked resources and manpower (HA, _manpower_ ) to catch even one, let alone deliver her files to the police.

"Both the Cyberman and the Auton stopped their crimes long ago. I understand grudges but there's more current killers on the loose that need our attention, don't you think? Like the Daleks, the Silence, the Master. . . There's a lot of 'the's with these killers, aren't there? Anyway, the point is. . . why focus on someone who's stopped killing? It seems like a waste of good resources and time."

Despite his words, he continued browsing her paperwork, clearly still intrigued. 

"They haven't been caught. And while you're not exactly _wrong_ about my focus heavily being on them, the Auton appears to either have copycats or be a cult of some kind," Clara pointed out.

"Besides that, I've noticed how some seem to have a-a familiar pattern of sorts. They seem to stick to London and the immediate areas, some have locations they prefer over others. The Weeping Angels, for example, prefer churches and graveyards, while the Silurian chooses the sewers!"

And yet she really _had_ let her grudge get to her, hadn't she? It fueled her to look into others, yes, but she wanted to see if she could find the others and finally bring justice to them.

"You haven't turned me away yet, Mr. Smith. I'm surprised you haven't. Most people would have turned me away by now, saying that I was coming up with ideas above my station."

"I don't care about your _'station'._ I care about how observant you are and how much help you could be." He looked her over again. "Like I said, serial killers don't usually discriminate according to gender. Why should I?" 

John soon stood, circling back around his desk over to her side, giving her a grin. "You are _very_ thorough with your notes, Miss Oswald."

_Why should I?_

_You are_ very _thorough with your notes._

If she wanted to cause a scandal, she would throw herself at him and kiss him for saying such words. But she didn't want that, nor did she want him to think any less of her.

"Does this mean we'll work together then?"

He crossed his arms, his grin never falling. "Yes, I believe I'd like that. Would you?"

"I think I just might, Mr. Smith," Clara said, a grin of her own finally forming upon her face. "Though I'm sure that I've currently taken up more than enough of your time for the day, now haven't I?"

"Well, to be completely honest, I have nothing else scheduled today and it's been a pretty dry past few weeks for clients. Mostly women who want to know if their husbands are cheating on them. Those get really boring, really fast. Wouldn't you agree?"

He stood up straight, holding a hand out to her. "I think a murder mystery is _far_ more thrilling."

Clara was hesitant. Who wouldn't be, really, when it came to essentially embarking on a new venture? Here she was, about to team up with the city's best private investigator.

Hopefully no unnecessary rumors would spread.

She took his hand before it felt like it would be too late, that grin still in place.

"Couldn't agree more, Mr. Smith."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and John meet to discuss case notes and a possible lead on one of their criminals.

They agreed to meet the next day at a cafe that was situated between his office and her flat, to form a plan of attack with investigations, as John had put it.

They were going to be discussing the Auton, how it seemed to be a cult and not just one man with multiple copycats throughout the years. Clara had promised herself to not let her grudge sign through during this meeting.

She would be professional the entire time. Hopefully.

Like yesterday, she was dressed to impress, this time only bringing papers with her related to the Auton. She had also managed to arrive before John, so she snagged a table for the both of them before getting herself a tea, deciding then it would be best to review her notes before John arrived.

And she waited. And waited. And waited. 

John was late. Twenty minutes late, in fact. Still, he did eventually arrive and rushed over to the table, apologizing profusely as soon as he was in hearing distance of her.

"I'm so, so sorry. I got caught up in things and might've. . . well. . . lost track of time."

Her tea had been finished for approximately five of those twenty minutes, and Clara had been about to order herself another one when John came rushing in.

She, thankfully, wasn't angry that he was late. Instead, she found herself amused, seeing a side to such a well known private investigator that she felt that no one else had seen.

Well, possibly. She _had_ just met the man yesterday.

"That's alright, Mr. Smith. I haven't been waiting too terribly long for you, after all."

"Thank you for being so understanding, Miss Oswald." He sat down, a waitress soon coming by to get his order. An earl grey with Linzer cookies on the side, with Clara taking the chance to order another cup of English breakfast tea along with two croissants. By this time, she had gotten a bit peckish and doubted she would be able to focus for much longer with nothing on her stomach.

As they waited on their orders, John gave her a grin. "So, we probably shouldn't look at anything _too_ gruesome here until we'll no longer have a waitress coming over. Trust me, we don't want another fainting waitress on our hands. So, without going into all the more ghastly details, what have you brought with you today, Miss Oswald?"

" _Another_ fainting waitress? Are you in the habit of causing that, Mr. Smith? Perhaps we shouldn't have agreed to meet in a café then."

She smiled at him though, sliding the file she had been going through over to him.

"The Auton. Or Autons. This here is what I brought yesterday and a few extra pieces I had gone around to collect after we talked." She chose to not open it up, knowing that some of the images she held in there weren't exactly _appropriate_ for public viewing.

"And if you decide to bring up my years-long grudge, I did bring a file with me about the Zygon. Whichever is more interesting to look at."

"Yes, well, fainting waitresses might. . . Yes. It's happened a few times. I get overexcited and pull out a picture at the wrong time. Never fun. Still, kind of hard to focus on those around me when there's so much to focus on in a case." He tugged out some files from a bag of his own, eagerly setting them on the table. 

"I brought not only my files on the Autons but _also_ my files on the Daleks. Nasty fellows, those ones. I'd argue they're possibly the worst out there right now. They keep changing up their methods."

"I've only heard stories of the Daleks," she said, pulling out her file on the Zygon to set on the table. "Weren't they a part of the Nazis or at least a more extreme sect of them?"

Clara took care to keep her voice low as she spoke, ensuring that only John would hear her. World War II may have ended two years ago, but some people still felt the wounds from it like it had happened yesterday.

Some families, from what she had seen, still had yet to be reunited. And everyone was coming home to a country plagued with new monsters.

"But the stories I've heard sound like horrors, almost like those penny dreadfuls people bought in the Victorian era only. . . Worse."

"Oh, yes, they are indeed dreadful. I figured if you hadn't looked into them you might find them worth investigating. They always leave a blue circle on their victim's foreheads to mark their kills and make sure we know it's them. Isn't that so _thoughtful_ of them?" 

He opened up the file and began to go into more detail. "The Daleks bounce back and forth between experimenting with their victims before they die or just simply murdering them. They target exactly who you'd expect: people of color, queers, jews, etcetera. Everyone that doesn't fit their ideal of the perfect human being."

He glanced up at the waitress, watching her approach as he closed up the file, gladly taking the tea and biscuits with a cheerful smile. "Thank you, dear. These look just scrumptious."

He sounded so. . . Not _passionate_ , that wasn't the right word. But he sounded like he also had a reason to look deeply into the Daleks, possibly one similar to her own for looking into the Cyberman and the Auton. Perhaps she was reading too much into it though.

After all, it wasn't until the war had _ended_ that people began to pay attention to corpses with blue circles upon their foreheads.

"Plenty of abandoned asylums and hospitals for them to take the poor souls to," she muttered darkly under her breath. While she hadn't looked into them herself, like John had guessed, Clara _had_ seen at least one photograph of a victim.

Nasty work.

She accepted her own cup of tea and the croissants that the waitress had, thankfully, brought by as well, offering a quiet thanks as she began to add honey and some sugar.

"Unfortunately for us, the Daleks are many and would take years to round up and incarcerate."

"Yes, but that also means they need more of our effort put into them. We can concentrate on these others as well but we should never stop looking into them." He flipped to the next page, some crime photos beginning to turn up now.

"They've tried bleaching the skin of anyone darker than them. They've tried lobotomies and electroshock therapy on the queers and jews and also tortured them in other ways in their attempts to 'fix' them. Anyone it doesn't work on. . ." John pointed to the various crime scene photos then, taking a deep breath. 

"They're the absolute worst of the worst. I've been chasing after them since before the war even ended."

"You served then?" she asked, doing her best to keep her voice steady as she looked through the photographs herself, taking in each little detail.

No real messes left behind. No clues to indicate how many committed the act. Nothing she could report to any form of law enforcement as a lead they could take advantage of. It's like they _wanted_ people to know they were doing this but didn't want to be found.

And if they had been doing this since the war was going on. . . They wouldn't stop anytime soon.

"It's horrible," Clara finally breathed, moving to take a sip of her tea. "All these people, just going about their lives, being who they are. . . And you have those like the Daleks who view it as _wrong_ for not fitting into a neat little box."

". . . I was a field medic. So, yes, I served. Saw a bit too much death to just go back to normal after," he finally responded, taking a deep breath before looking over the pictures again. 

". . . I want to make them pay. They don't deserve to continue this senseless violence."

Clara licked her lips, looking at him, trying to get a read of his emotions. Had one of the Daleks gotten someone he cared about? Had he seen too many taken out by them during the war?

She carefully reached across the table, placing her hand over his, her thumb brushing against his skin soothingly.

"We'll get as many of them as we can, Mr. Smith. I promise. All of these. . . These monsters, wearing human faces. We'll get them."

Hopefully.

The man paused for a moment at the attempt to comfort him. It took him a few beats to find the words to continue, obviously out of his element at that moment. 

"Ah, yes, we, um. . . we will. We'll find them and stop them. I'd rather die than let them continue doing this to people."

Yes, he very well must have been personally affected by them, but how? He didn't let the thought linger for long, however, soon slipping his hand from her grasp and closing the file. He began to blow on his tea in an attempt to cool it down, aiming for a distraction.

She felt awkward, taking her hand back to place in her lap, her other hand reaching for one of her croissants so she could at least nibble on it a bit, get something on her stomach.

Not too much though. She doubted the pictures would end where they did, since he _did_ bring a file for the Auton.

"Well, we could sit about trying to find a way to get at least _one_ Dalek, but perhaps we should take a look at your other file, yeah?"

"Yes, of course, the Auton." He pulled out the file as he bit into one of his biscuits, humming softly to himself. It was almost as if the darker thoughts from a moment ago hadn't even happened as he happily opened it up. "Nasty fellow, uses plastics to try and turn people into perfect dolls, leaving them to suffocate inside. Though, I have a theory. There was another murderer before the war that did the same thing, but with porcelain. I feel like they're one in the same _or_ the current one is a copycat of sorts."

". . . Porcelain?" Her voice was hardly a whisper, her mind about to wander to thoughts she shouldn't be having. A mental slap to the face was all it took to get her all business again, though her heart still hammered in her chest.

"Copycat or maybe a successor? If that would even be possible," Clara suggested, hurrying to take another bite of her croissant. She waited until she had forced it down her throat, wondering if it was even a good idea to have mentioned the Auton.

She also had no choice but to agree with his theory. After all. . . She had been using the name 'Auton' for the man that killed her mother, though he never used plastic for her.

He used _porcelain_.

"Yes, exactly! Everything else about the crimes are exactly the same outside of the materials used to turn them into living dolls. Well, I say 'living', but they don't exactly last long after the initial process." 

His eyes wandered over her, calculating and observant. He took another definitive sip of his tea before sitting back in his chair more comfortably, his free hand fidgeting a bit on the table. 

"You've gone pale and seem like you're covering up something. Surely, you can't have been affected by the Auton too."

Clara was beginning to think that John would hyperfocus on things and forget details someone could have told him mere minutes ago, let alone a day. Considering how much information she had brought with her about the Cyberman yesterday though, it made sense that he had forgotten.

The Cyberman taking Danny was a year and a half ago, still raw and fresh. Her mother was long before the war though, and she could only count herself lucky for not seeing any photographs of the porcelain victims.

"What? No, it's just. . . I've seen the photos of his current victims. Terrifies me to think of what the past ones looked like."

Calm, she just had to be calm. It wasn't like John was going to have a photograph of her mother in his file after all.

And oh, how the universe hated her.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek as he began looking through the file. It wasn't long before he was glancing back up at her. "Elena Oswald?

Everything seemed to just _stop_. There was a ringing in her ears, her gaze going from John to the file he was looking through. She was in there.

Her _mother_ was in that file.

"May I look? Please?" She wanted to feel proud about keeping her voice steady, though the hand in her lap was now gripping the fabric of her skirt, betraying her true feelings.

He looked her over sternly, breathing evenly as he continued to fidget with his free hand. It was after a moment that he scratched at his cheek before closing up the file. "Your mother, I assume? I think you _did_ mention your mother, now that I think about it. Are you sure you should look at this in public? Seems to me like that's something you should do behind closed doors. It's not exactly pretty."

"Just give me the file, Mr. Smith." Oh, there it was, a slight crack in the façade. Unless he had the both of them head to his office at that very moment, she wasn't going to stop asking.

She just. . . She needed to _see_.

He gave her another stern look before opening the file again, flipping to the page again before flipping it over and sliding it toward her. 

"Suit yourself."

Her hands had a slight tremor to them as she reached for the file, picking it up like it was a bomb about to go off. She took one look at John before turning her attention to the contents.

Bile rose in her throat, but Clara swallowed it down, staring long and hard at the image before her.

Even in death, her mother was beautiful. This was a haunting beauty though, an eerie and horrifying one. Perfectly preserved in porcelain with a frozen scream on her face. She had seen that face when they would go and see scary movies at the cinema, so many times.

Now it was her final expression. Not one of serene peace, like it should have been, but one of sheer horror.

Clara made no sound as she closed the file and slid it back to John, though her cheeks felt wet. Tears. She was crying, she was-

"Do you need to excuse yourself for a bit, Miss Oswald?" John asked, his tone gentle. "I understand how it's like. You shouldn't have to hold it in. You can go to the restroom and let it out."

"No. No, I'm fine." She was definitely not fine, but she had delayed the both of them enough as it was by demanding the file from him. "I think I'll save that for a less public setting."

She picked up her napkin, quickly dabbing at her cheeks and under her eyes before feeling like she could look composed again. Her hand still shook when she picked up her tea though.

"So, do we want to discuss theories on the Auton, like a possible motive or if he has a type he goes for? Or would you like to see my file on the Zygon?"

"I think it might be best to move on to the Zygon, don't you?" He grabbed his file, closing it up and putting it away. "We can discuss the Auton back at my office."

"Agreed." At least there she could unless any anger that might bubble up inside of her. Clara slid her file on the Zygon over to John, taking another sip of tea before speaking up.

"The Zygon is an interesting one. No idea if they're a man or a woman, for one, since they keep making nearly perfect disguises to commit their crimes in. I've had to let out more than one person who got locked up for a crime they never did."

"Have to wonder how many of their crimes end up written off as domestic violence. They usually disguise themselves as husbands or wives of their victims so they can get in their homes easier. I haven't figured out a connection between the victims yet, though."

"I've seen plenty written off as just that, especially if the husband is brought in later the next day while drunk." After all, most of the information in her file on the Zygon was things she had gathered before quitting the police.

Along with some she had just taken from the station itself.

"With no connection it does just seem like this person is going at random, picking and choosing who they want to target and then stalking them long enough to figure out their. . . Habits."

Oh. A violent person with a talent in disguise who stalked victims seemingly at random to learn necessary information before striking. Oh, that was good, very good.

"Unless it's not random," Clara continued. "Unless they go for people they might know to make information gathering easier, or they go for people that may have a history of domestic issues. What if the connection isn't the identities of the victims, but their own actions?"

Now that she had said it, it did sound a bit mad. She had even started leaning over the table a bit, quickly pulling back to sit up straighter. Hopefully no one had noticed.

"Hmm...a marriage counselor, perhaps? Or something like that. Someone who could know the inner workings of the victim's home life and have frequent enough visits from them to sculpt the perfect disguise." He gave her a bit of an excited grin, looking her in the eyes. "Think it's a valid enough theory?"

"Initially I was thinking they could be a friend, but a marriage counselor makes more sense. Gives more of an ability to have a connection to the sheer number of people that have been hurt by the Zygon."

But they didn't have time to investigate every marriage counselor, nor were either of them married! Well, no, Clara wasn't married, but she didn't know if John was.

Definitely too awkward to ask about that right this moment anyway.

"So, yes, more than a valid enough theory."

"You know, several counselors will give free consults. We could do some undercover work and look into a few in the city."

"Undercover work? You mean that you and I would. . . ?"

No, no, that was stupid, why was she taking his suggestion that way?! There was no way that John Smith, private investigator and possible husband to some woman was implying that they should pretend to be married!

"Well, yes. We pretend we're married to get in, figure out the office layout and then find a way to sneak back in later to look at the patient history. It's perfect, don't you think?" John bit into another biscuit after dipping it in his tea. "Unless you're opposed to the idea?"

"What? No, no, it's not that I'm opposed!" Clara finished her croissant before deciding to continue, knowing that there wasn't truly a delicate way to word her next question.

"It's just that, well. . . Are you married, Mr. Smith? I wouldn't want a possible angry wife hunting me down after all."

The man before her stiffened a bit, licking his lips before leaning back in his chair again. He was quiet for a bit longer before he finally replied, his voice solemn.

"I used to be married. My wife. . . She was murdered."

"I. . . Mr. Smith, I'm so sorry. I didn't know." Clara's voice was soft, apologetic. She wanted to ask what had happened, if it had been the Daleks or someone else.

But she couldn't. It was a private matter, and she would only ask if he wanted to open up. They were just partners in all of this, acquaintances really.

"If you don't treat me like a ghost. . . Like a replacement, even if it's just to catch a criminal. . . I'll pretend to be your wife."

"Don't take this the wrong way, Miss Oswald, but you could never replace her. She was a storm all of her own and no one could compare to her." He took a deep breath before looking her over. "This is simply an undercover investigation. You can act, right?"

She couldn't help but smirk when he described his former wife, settling back in her chair in an effort to relax. She didn't come to this man for love, for a relationship.

She came to him to bring justice to the world, since he seemed like the only one mad enough to go as far as she wanted to go.

"I can. Wouldn't be the first time I've had to act a part to get what I want." She has thousands of names to use, simple disguises, too.

Pretending to be John's new wife shouldn't be an issue.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and John grab disguises and investigate.

The next visit to John's office was an interesting one, to say the least. Both of them were trying on new outfits, hoping to get themselves to look different enough and blend in. 

The fake mustache John had chosen, however, was a bit. . . Well. . .

"Take that off," Clara said, reaching for the offending piece of the disguise to tear from John's upper lip. "Honestly, you look better all clean-shaven. That mustache should be considered a crime of its own."

She was currently dressed in a much simpler outfit, a blouse tucked into a tartan skirt. While she had put on a new pair of stockings as well, she had forgone the shoes for the time being.

Best to pick those at the very end.

"Do I want to know how and why you have all of this in your office?"

"Ow!" He slapped his hand over his mouth, obviously finding the removal painful. "You can at least _warn_ me before removing something _glued_ to my face!" He rubbed at the reddened skin above his lips as he grumbled inaudibly.

"I happen to disguise myself all the time. It helps to keep the disguises nearby. Have you never used a disguise in your investigations?"

"Most of my disguises just involve doing my makeup differently, picking an outfit no one knows I own and changing how my accent sounds." She couldn't help herself from laughing, of course, watching him rub at his face.

"Oh, and I use a different name each time. I had to start doing it as part of a journalist act I had when getting information. Then if someone left me alone in a room for too long, I'd start picking locks."

"Ooo, another lockpicker, you say? I happen to be a master lockpick, you know!" He tried on a hat after rubbing some lotion on the spot above his mouth. 

"So. . . about the Auton. You said that was your mother, right?"

Clara had initially opened her mouth to make a comment on his master lockpick claim, mainly to challenge him since he didn't seem the type to do such a thing. Thankfully he didn't comment that her own lockpicking went against her former position as a police officer.

And then he mentioned the Auton, and her mouth shut with an audible _click._ She picked up a coat, throwing it on before deciding in mere moments that it didn't go with her current ensemble.

". . . Yes," was her final, soft reply. "Mum had said she was going out. That she would be home for dinner. She never did come home though."

"I see. I'm sorry. You have plenty of reason to want him caught. Both the Auton and Cyberman have caused you a great deal of turmoil. They deserve to be caught. In fact, I'd say they deserve the death penalty for their crimes, wouldn't you?"

He tried on a coat, checking to see if it looked good together before fiddling with the spot above his mouth again. It was still obviously inflamed and he could only rub at it in dismay. 

Clara stared at him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. While she had believed those two should be put away for life, she had never _voiced_ the dark desire that lurked in the back of her mind.

The desire that he just spoke aloud so casually, the desire to see the Auton and the Cyberman put to death.

"I- that's-" She was so caught off guard by the statement, unable to give a definitive answer. In the end, she could only turn away, nodding silently.

Even with someone else thinking the same thing, it was still hard to say those very words herself.

"Of course, that's not our place, is it? Though, I know I certainly feel that way about a few of them myself." He leaned against his desk, looking her over briefly before continuing. 

"Both my wife and my best friends were taken from me by monsters like them. It hurts. . . knowing that even when we catch them, they'll never suffer the way they made them suffer. That's what you're thinking, right?"

 _Stop it,_ she thought, daring herself to look at him again, _Stop putting words into my mouth!_

But instead, she just narrowed her eyes, crossing over to him so she was standing right in front of him. She searched his face, as if trying to find something, _anything_ sinister.

All she saw was a broken man with a broken heart who wanted his pain to be fixed. It was almost like looking in a distorted mirror of sorts.

He was like her. Why should she be scared to voice the thoughts she had held back for years for fear of being called mad?

"Perhaps. I know the next best thing we can get is them being locked away for the rest of their days. Not much we can do after that. For all we know, they might live out their prison time in luxury."

He swallowed a thick lump in his throat, looking down at her quietly before he eventually slipped over behind his desk, opening a drawer.

"What's your ring size, Miss Oswald?"

Oh, God, she made him uncomfortable, didn't she? Her face flushed in embarrassment as she tried to look at anything else in the office, nearly missing his question.

"What? Oh, um. . ." She looked down at her ring finger, recalling how a long time ago, she had messed about and talked about getting married with-

"Six," she said, cutting off her train of thought as quickly as she could. "It's a size six, Mr. Smith."

"Good. I have a size six in here." He took out a ring after fumbling around a bit before walking over to hold it out to her. "Can't exactly be married without wearing rings for it, now can we?" He held up his own hand, a wedding band upon his ring finger.

"Right. Can't possibly look like we want a scandal either," she said, taking the ring from him and slipping it on. She wondered if his wife was a size six, or if one of his friends that had died was a woman.

No, those were both morbid thoughts since they paved the way for the imagery of the ring she now wore belonging to a dead woman. It's possible that this was just a ring he happened to have, right?

"Well? Do I look like Mrs. Clara Smith now?" she then asked, picking up a coat she had not yet tried to pull on, finally completing her look.

He gave her a soft smile before nodding. "A proper Mrs. Clara Smith. Good job." He leaned down to lightly brush a bit of her hair out of her face before turning to look in the mirror himself, checking the red spot beneath his nose again. "I get the feeling this is gonna take a while to calm down."

She ignored the slight flutter her heart made when he brushed the hair from her face, ignored how it felt like his fingertips brushed against her cheek when he pulled back.

A young, handsome face would not turn her head. A pretty young man wasn't going to deter her from her work. This was all business, _of course,_ he would do this sort of thing!

They had to pretend to be married.

"Sorry about that," Clara said, making a face. "You're right. Should have asked before ripping that atrocity from your face."

"It wasn't an _atrocity._ It looked _cool,_ " he grumbled a little, like a five-year-old who'd had his toy taken away from him. "I might have to make it look like I have razor burn or something. Or, you know, I could just put it back on."

Clara arched an eyebrow before walking over to him, taking his face in her hands as she pretended to examine the spot.

"How _anyone_ could think a mustache like that is cool is beyond me. I think you look better without it." She released him then, walking away so she could finally put on her shoes.

"Your disguise though. Just know that if you put it back on, I will _not_ enjoy it."

He moved his jaw back and forth a bit in thought before rubbing at the spot again, begrudgingly agreeing to leave it off.

" _F_ _ine._ I'll use it some other day."

Clara couldn't contain the triumphant smile that broke out on her face, though she made sure to wipe it away before he could have a chance to see it.

Her disguise fully done, as well as her hair and makeup styled differently to give the appearance of a new wife (part of her doubted they would play the part of a couple married for _years_ ), Clara grabbed her bag to head for the door.

"Off we go then!"

***

It was. . . _Interesting_ , Clara decided, pretending to be married just to find some clues. Each marriage counselor they went to was given the same story, give or take a few details.

Some acted odd. Others not so much. She wasn't sure if it was enough to determine who the Zygon was though.

"Alright, I'm stumped," she finally admitted, closing up her notepad to look up at John. "How many more must we visit before we find him?"

"There's at least three more we can investigate, though two won't be available until tomorrow." He groaned, looking at his watch before turning back to her. 

"If you want to stop now, you can. I could still consult them on my own if need be. I don't mind."

"Oi, I'm not backing out now! Just confused. So far they've all just asked the same questions, with nothing really sticking out."

She tucked her notepad away, toying with the ring that still adorned her finger.

"Let's go to this next one and after that discuss anything odd any of them had shown over some tea? Or we could get some food, perhaps an early dinner."

He smiled softly, looking her over again. "Dinner sounds lovely, Miss Oswald. Any place you have in mind?"

He began walking in the direction of the next counselor's office, obviously expecting her to follow. 

She hurried after him, suddenly slipping her arms around his, trying to give the image of a married couple. Sure, they didn't _have_ to keep up the act when not on-site, but she felt like this made it easier.

Well, she hoped it did. She hadn't exactly snatched his arm like this before.

"There's this lovely little restaurant that isn't too far from your office, actually. Perhaps we could eat there."

He faltered a little bit when she wrapped her arms around his own before he looked down at her. "A little forward, aren't you? I would say take me out to dinner first but you're already suggesting that, aren't you?"

"We're _supposed_ to look married, Mr. Smith," she said, looking up at him. "And I don't see anyone who would recognize us, so why should we only act when at a counselor?"

"You don't know who'd recognize me, you know." He chuckled, patting her hand as they continued walking along. "Though, I suppose that's okay, _dear._ If you prefer to be in-character the whole time, I can't stop you."

"Oi, that's not what I- that is, I just- shut up!" Clara's face flushed as she tore away from him, briskly walking forward.

If they weren't in public she would have thrown the ring off for extra measure. But this ring was probably special to him, the weight of it on her finger seemed to remind her.

Undoubtedly connected to someone he knew. . . Just like how she wore her mother's wedding ring around her neck on a chain.

She stopped in her tracks, mostly to allow John to catch up. Would do no good to arrive at a marriage counselor with no husband, even if he was a fake one.

John, however, had not quickened his pace and was even smirking a bit as he caught up to her, his arms crossed. Once he was by her side again, his smirk widened a bit. 

" _Now_ we look more like a couple that needs counseling."

"Shut up," she grumbled, beginning to walk forward again, making sure he was following after her.

"Let's go over our story again before we get there. We've been married for roughly a year, give or take a few days, that much isn't changing, yeah?"

"Yes. But we argue pretty often, mostly about finances and my drinking problem." He walked along with her, his voice low enough for passersby to not hear him. "You also want children while I don't."

"And your drinking also has me worried because you'll be late coming home, sometimes stumbling in during the early morning hours and I always wonder if you're off seeing someone else," she added, watching people from the corner of her eye to ensure no one was stopping to listen.

"I'm also stressed because I work two jobs to try and support us, while you sit around on your arse drinking and glaring at the news."

"What jobs do you work, Miss Oswald? In case he asks." John glanced at his watch again, humming softly to himself.

"I'm a secretary for one of the big businesses around here. I got hired because I'm good with organization and making sure things go well, though you claim it was because my new boss thought I looked attractive." A claim she hated to even lie about. She always worked hard to earn her place.

"On the weekends I work in a shop. I'm always tired and stressed when I come home, and you rarely, if ever, comfort me and help me relax."

John was quiet for a moment, obviously lost in thought. It took him a bit before he spoke again. 

"Did you know that marriage counseling actually began with the eugenics movement over in Germany?"

"I heard something about that. People were using eugenics in their arguments while on trial after the war, weren't they? To justify what they did."

Of course she had heard about it, it was all the papers and the news could talk about for ages before actually moving on. Sometimes it still popped up though, but not as often.

"Why?"

"It's funny, really. Just how much damage came from something people were convinced was for the best. People were drawn in by facets they thought were trustworthy, like marriage counseling, and ended up becoming deplorable." 

He took a deep breath before going silent, his face stern.

"Do you need a moment, Mr. Smith?" She couldn't help but sound concerned. After all, he had to have seen horrible things during his time in the war, undoubtedly had to listen to people talk about eugenics and the like to explain their side of things.

But what would she know? She had been in England the entire time, making sure no one was outside during the Blitz and doing her part with the police. She didn't know what he did and didn't see, what he had and hadn't done.

"On second thought, keep that angry face. Could help with our act."

He chuckled mirthlessly before looking down at his feet. "I guess the biggest lesson is to look for whichever is trying to gain your trust the most. Look for whoever seems the most appealing and likable out of all of them. That's who I would trust the least."

"Of course." Was he still talking about the counselors, or was he talking about something else entirely? Not really wanting to waste more time, Clara reached for him, once more allowing their arms to link together.

"Come on, we're nearly at the next one. And then we get some dinner right after!"

He looked down at her before his stern look melted a bit, a soft smile gracing his features. "Yes, of course. Lead the way, ma'am."

***

She immediately felt like something was off with this one. It wasn't the warm welcome that the man gave, or the welcoming presence (though John's words from earlier did linger).

It felt like he was analyzing them, more than the other ones had. She felt worried that he would see through the act.

"You're the last one we're seeing today, even if my _husband_ isn't keen on the idea," Clara said, sitting down. "I'm really hoping you can help. The others, they just-"

"They just suggest therapy for me and don't bother to concentrate on how badly _she_ treats _me._ I don't need any bloody therapy." John interrupted her, adjusting his position in his chair, glancing over at her briefly before looking back at the counselor.

"I do _not_ treat you _badly_ ," she forced out, glancing at John. "I'm _worried_ about you and your constant drinking!"

She twisted the ring on her finger, looking at him for a moment longer before tearing her gaze away once more.

"Do either of you hit each other?" The counselor interrupted, looking between the two. 

"No. Just arguments. I'd never lay a hand on her," John replied, looking over at her again before watching the counselor closely. "Even with our problems, I love her too much for that."

"I would never hit him! As bad as things get, I could never!" She swallowed, keeping her gaze on the counselor. "And even when he gets angry, especially after drinking, I've never believed he could hurt me."

She was used to the others they had been to asking if John hit her. But this one. . . He asked if _either_ of them got physical.

How interesting.

"I see. Well, if there ever is anything that goes too far, you two have my number. I'll gladly talk with either of you privately if you wish." 

"Dr. Wallis, I don't think that'll be necessary, you'll find." John looked him over incredulously, taking note of everything. "We've come here together for a reason. We don't plan to approach this separately."

"I worry enough about him coming home late and possibly seeing other women in the night," Clara added, twisting her ring again. The moment they were out of here, she was taking out her notepad and recording all of this down.

"Would you rather I make house calls then, if anything gets worse? I don't normally suggest such things, but I know that sometimes one can say things that won't anger their spouse. . . No matter how much they love each other."

She couldn't help but gawk at him, resisting the urge to rise up when she spoke again. "Are you insinuating that one of us is lying then, Dr. Wallis?"

"Calm down, honey," John interjected, waving a hand toward her. "I appreciate that you are willing to do so much, sir. You must be very dedicated to your craft."

"Well, I want to help. Anyone could sit here and tell you what's wrong. Even you two could figure that out on your own. But helping? Truly helping? I believe that takes a bit more than just sitting here doing little beyond examining."

"I can admire that in a doctor. I was a field doctor in the war. Sometimes, you can't just stand by. You have to get out there." John leaned in, intertwining his fingers together. "How late do you normally take calls, sir?"

"Oh, it depends on the day. Whenever you need me, I suppose," he responded, giving them both a polite smile.

That smile made Clara's skin crawl. She said nothing though, simply sinking into her chair, trying to look the part of an annoyed wife.

"Well, surely you have times where you're in the office and out. Do you have a home phone number to call if you're not available here?" John raised a brow. "Unless you just live here. All work, no play?"

"Why, of course I do! I also stay here late into the night," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Sometimes my clients stay late as well, if necessary. I'm not one to let young couples like yourselves go home feeling like you've been ignored."

"Dear, leave the man be. It's not like you're going to convince him to go down to the pub with you and flirt with whatever woman will hang off your arm," Clara said, looking at John again.

"Why would I want him flirting with whatever woman is hanging off of _my_ arm, hm? That seems a bit odd, doesn't it? Besides, I am not as flirtatious as you think I am when I drink. I prefer the company of like-minded men to simply chat with. I thought I'd perhaps invite him along for a drink some night is all."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," she grumbled, turning her gaze away.

Dr. Wallis gave them both that polite smile again. "Apart from what you both have told me already, are there any other issues? Perhaps trying to isolate one another from friends or family? Thinking you know best for your spouse?"

She noticed that he was watching the both of them as he asked his questions. It would be simple to direct them to John, but no.

He was asking if either of them were doing these things.

"Can't isolate me from what I don't have." John leaned back in his chair again before continuing. "Most of my friends died in the war while the rest moved away. My family have all passed away. All I have is her." He motioned toward Clara, taking in a deep breath. 

"While I haven't spoken to my father or his new wife, that has been my choice and one I made long before our marriage," Clara said, her attention turning to John. "I work two jobs, which makes it nearly impossible to have a social life."

She couldn't help but laugh at that, the sound tired and soft.

"I'd rather have my husband as opposed to no one at all. At least he is a constant in my life."

"I see. Well, it seems to me that you both still love each other, which is better than many who come through my doors. I think there's hope for this working out if you ask me. I would gladly like to help." 

"Could we have both your business card and your home phone number?" John asked, standing up and walking over.

That smile still in place on his face, Clara watched as Dr. Wallis nodded in answer to John's question, standing up from the chair he had been seated in to cross over to his desk.

Picking up two cards, he crossed back over to John, handing one to him before making his way towards Clara, handing the other to her.

"Feel free to get in touch whenever you would like, both of you. I'm sure I can help you both rediscover what brought you together so you don't lose sight of it."

"Thank you, Dr. Wallis. We'll be in touch." John gave him a nod before guiding Clara out of the office, making sure they were far enough away from him before speaking again. 

"Well, he was a peculiar fellow, wasn't he?"

Clara wanted to break out into a run if it meant getting away from here, but she kept her pace steady and in time with John's steps. The moment her partner spoke, she allowed herself to take a deep breath, feeling her shoulders relax a bit.

"Very. The questions, I expected, though I didn't expect him to direct them towards both of us."

"Nor did I expect a personal phone number. He seems very keen to get into our lives, doesn't he, dearie?" He chuckled, leaning in a bit to whisper. "I think we need to figure out when he's home and draw him out of that office. I suspect we'll find some interesting files."

"Which means more sessions, now doesn't it?" She turned her head towards him, not exactly noticing how close they now were to one another. "Someone that keen must be hiding something, may it be in his own home or in that desk of his."

"Yes, I do believe so. Good girl." He gave her a grin before standing up straight once more. "Now, you wanted to go get dinner?"

"God, _yes,_ I'm feeling quite hungry and I need to get sat down so I can write some notes about this." She ignored the little thrill that shot through her at the name John called her.

 _Good girl._ He was just praising her for taking part in this investigation, for agreeing with his ideas.

"Now then, I do believe the restaurant I mentioned before is still accepting customers, no need to call in and reserve a spot for us."

"Good. I look forward to whatever they're serving if it's on your recommendation. I'm sure it'll be lovely."

"Oh trust me, it will be. Come on then, let's not waste time!" And off she went, looking over her shoulder to give him a grin.

Sure, they still had a grisly case on their hands and a very likely suspect for the Zygon, but a little break wouldn't hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, sad news! This is actually the last chapter for a bit. Chapter 4 is in progress, yes, but my fiance and I sort of lost the drive for it? We also got sucked into Final Fantasy VII Remake and Control (the game by Remedy), so that's a thing xD
> 
> But don't worry! I look forward to the day I can post chapter 4 for you all!


End file.
